Blood on the Page
by steelcrash
Summary: For too long Cayde's been a number or a tool. But he's found his way back to the only family he has left in the 'verse. It goes about as well as he expects. Crossover with "Firefly"/"Serenity"
1. Chapter 1

Blood on the Page

Chapter 1—Face to Face

Disclaimer: I don't own "Destiny," "Firefly," "Serenity" or their respective characters. They belong to Bungie/Activision, Fox and Joss Whedon. I'm just taking them for a spin.

 _What can I keep for myself if I tell you my hell?_

 _What would be left to take to my grave?_

 _And what's left for you, my lover to save?_

 _What's left for only you to take?_

 _If I put too much blood on the page_

 _If I put too much blood on the page_

 _And if I just tell the truth are there only lies left for you_

 _If I put too much love on the page?_

 _-"Too Much Blood" by The Gaslight Anthem_

My name is Cayde. A human. I'm a person. Not a thing. Not a tool. Or a number.

He repeated it a few times, but hasn't needed his morning mantra in weeks. Barring today, of all days, he's finally reached his goal. Except he can't bring himself to step out into the crowd and head those final few yards.

Not like he's afraid or anything. Got no cause to be. Maybe. Not of the person. The situation? Yeah. That sounds about right.

Months he's waited for this. Weeks of travel and work, long stretches out in the black to get to this point. He's counted the days since he left Osiris and safety. Although in the back of his mind he knows "safe" isn't a real thing. Not in this 'verse, or any other. But he believed the illusion long enough to get well, and regain some semblance of self.

And well isn't something he is, either. Healthy in body, but spirit and mind? Not so sure. Although he's able now to go out in a crowd and block all the voices out, be alone in his head again. Which was good. He'd settle for good. God knew he'd had little enough of anything good lately. Except those good memories he'd made over the past few months were few, but they were enough. Had to be.

Back to the present. He stopped, checking his rucksack. Everything he owned was in the bag—a couple of changes of clothes, a book, his two journals, and two of his knives. His other knife was at his belt. The thing was the only possession he'd managed to hold on to all this time. Not like he needed it, either. He'd done enough living by the bullet and the blade. Felt good not having to fight for anyone or anything these past months.

The only fighting he'd done, at the last, was for himself, his friends, and he'd managed to avoid a murder charge. So far. He was still a little hazy on whether or not it was his knife or someone else's bullet had done the ending. Didn't really matter, though. The man got a better death than he deserved.

Here he was, thinking about the past again. He was going to miss his mark, and then where would he be? Stranded.

He stopped, not quite ready to step out into the crowd. Staring into a pane of glass, checking his reflection with a sigh. He was a little on the skinny side, because food was getting scarce along with his coin. Hair was finally grown out long enough to hide _those_ scars. Nothing he could do about the scar slashed across the left side of his face, although he still had the use of the eye. At least all the other scars were covered, along with the tattoos.

Maybe, however, this is a mistake. He could turn around and forget about his goal. Go somewhere else. Start over, but where? He can't go back to Osiris for so many reasons, the main one he's already told good-bye, and she won't be expecting him back. Ever. And she's probably the next best thing he's ever had, except the best thing, and they're long dead.

Sure, he'd be welcome, but he couldn't stay, and she wouldn't leave. So it was a doomed affair from the beginning. No regrets, though. Not anymore.

He's done with the past, and already decided on no future beyond the day he's living. Easier that way. And he'd already lost too much. Not like he had anything else to lose, anyway. Well, his life, and it wasn't worth much anymore, except to the three people who knew he was alive. The only three who cared enough to help save it.

He owed them a debt he could never repay. Guess he owed it to them to keep on living. So he stepped on out into the crowd, heading toward his goal.

The goal is a Firefly-class ship named Serenity, and it's sitting on a pad down at the Eavesdown Docks. He can see it from where he's standing, and almost turns and heads back the other way. Keeps going, because even though it might get messy, he's waited long enough.

With each step, he gets less sure he's doing the right thing. Imagines how he'd feel, not seeing someone in years. Especially after they thought him dead. Yeah. This was gonna go so well.

One last deep breath, turns a corner, and walks up to the ramp of the ship, up to the person he knows is its captain. Who has his back turned, and yelling at someone out of sight, berating them with profanity Cayde can't help but be impressed by.

Except Serenity's captain turns, looking down the ramp at _him_. Swears. Turns white. And pulls a gun on him.

"It's good to see you, too, Mal," Cayde said, watching as Mal Reynolds, captain of Serenity, and his brother, hit the ground like a sack of bricks.


	2. Chapter 2

Blood on the Page

Chapter 2—Change of Luck

Disclaimer: I don't own "Destiny," "Firefly," "Serenity" or their respective characters. They belong to Bungie/Activision, Fox and Joss Whedon. I'm just taking them for a spin.

 _What can I keep for myself if I tell you my hell?_

 _What would be left to take to my grave?_

 _And what's left for you, my lover to save?_

 _What's left for only you to take?_

 _If I put too much blood on the page_

 _If I put too much blood on the page_

 _And if I just tell the truth are there only lies left for you_

 _If I put too much love on the page?_

 _-"Too Much Blood" by The Gaslight Anthem_

Waking up tied to a chair with a gun in his face isn't an unusual occurrence. Hasn't happened in while, and Cayde should be more concerned than he is, but he isn't.

The ship is underway, and at least they haven't spaced him. _Yet_.

Mal's standing over him, glaring at the grin on his face.

Noticing two more people in the room, Cayde notices it's the gathering area for the crew.

Cayde smiled at the lovely lady, who pursed her lips in response. Huh. No real reaction besides that, and the look of long-suffering resignation and sigh which followed.

The hulking merc-looking man beside her tapped his unsheathed knife against his chin in thought. Interesting. Cayde got the man was curious and amused about the situation. Also a little confused, but more about why Mal was being an ass than at Cayde's own presence.

So Cayde winked at the merc. Just because.

"What the hell?" Mal snapped, smacking Cayde in the back of the head. "God, are you flirting with _Jayne_?"

Cayde shrugged, but he smirked at Mal, because it felt good to know getting a rise out of him so easy hadn't changed. And he watched as Mal made for the lady and muscles, shoving them both out of the room.

"Out. Both of you out. Now," Mal said.

"You still can't take a joke," Cayde said.

"Flirting with fucking Jayne Cobb isn't a joke," Mal said.

"Why? He yours or something?"

"God no," Mal said.

"Not like it matters or anything," Cayde said. "Or is the lady your wife? Girlfriend?"

"My best friend and first mate," Mal said. "Plus she's married, but not to me. Wait, why the hell am I telling you all this?"  
"Because we need to catch up?" Cayde suggested, this time with what he hoped was a sincere smile.

Mal pulled up a chair, sitting down, facing him. He had Cayde's ID card in one hand and unsheathed knife in the other.

"I know this knife," Mal said.

"You ought," Cayde replied. "You had one just like it."

"True," Mal said. "But no family of mine would have reason to have an Alliance-issued ident card."

Cayde shrugged. "I got it for services rendered."

"On Osiris?" Mal asked, skeptical.

"It's where I landed about a year ago," Cayde said. "Things took a bad turn before that."

"You don't say," Mal said. "Just where the hell you been all this time, Cayde? If you really are. . ."

"Fuck Mal, you're still an idiot," Cayde snapped.

"I thought you died on Shadow along with everyone else," Mal said.

"Might've been neater if I had," Cayde said. "I was offworld, working on a contract to sell our cattle when the Alliance attacked. I was only gonna be gone a couple of days."  
"And in all that time since. . ." Mal said.

"I drank myself into a stupor and when I woke up, I signed up with the Independents. I tried contacting you a couple of times, but. . ."

Mal cut him off. "Where were you assigned?"  
"Here and there," Cayde said.

"What about the last four years? Where you been since the end of the war?" Mal asked.

"I worked in private security, as a bodyguard," Cayde said. That explanation was as good as any. Also not a complete lie, either.

"On Osiris?" Mal asked.

"No. Out on the Rim," Cayde said.

"Why didn't you try to find me before now?" Mal said.

"Didn't know you were alive until about six months ago," Cayde said. "Otherwise I would've looked before now."

"What about the past six months?" Mal said.

Cayde rolled his eyes. God. He hadn't been expecting an interrogation, but he answered anyway. "I wasn't in what you'd call good shape," he said. "Some friends helped me out, gave me a place to recuperate."

"Which is why you have an Alliance ID and a letter of reference from some fancy company?" Mal asked.

"Yeah. They figured it was the least they could do," Cayde said. "God, Mal, when are you gonna give this up? I'm not a clone or anything."

"Then tell me something only my brother would know," Mal said.

"Buckley," Cayde said.

Mal's face turned red, even to the tips of his ears. "What the fuck?"  
"Your middle name is Buckley. You hate it. Always have," Cayde said.

Mal didn't say anything because his mouth was hanging open. No one knew his middle name was Buckley. He never signed his name with it because yes, indeed, he did loathe his middle name.

"Like Edward is much better," Mal finally managed.

"At least it ain't something Ma picked out of a romance novel," Cayde said. "You always thought yours was a smarmy Core name. Can't say you were wrong there."

Mal stood, walking around behind the chair where Cayde was tied, and slit the rope tying him down.

"I can give you a bunk and a job," he said. "Can't pay much."

"It's enough," Cayde said.

88888

The hatch to Cayde's assigned bunk was open, so Mal let himself in. Cayde was putting away his belongings, but it wasn't what made Mal gasp in shock. His twin had his shirt off, and his back was covered by long, thin scars, and his left arm from the elbow to shoulder with more scars.

Cayde turned when heard him.

"Sorry you had to see those," he said.

"Where the hell you get those?" Mal asked, but he stopped when his eyes went to the ace of spades tattoo on the left side of Cayde's chest. "That I can guess, right?"

"It's for Ace," Cayde said.

"I'm sorry," Mal said, finally offering over the bundle of clothing in his hands. "I'm sorry I never got to meet him."

Cayde ignored the comment. "What's with the clothes?"

"It's just until you can get more," Mal said. "I noticed you don't have much. . ."

"Thanks," Cayde said. "I'm tired. Think I'm gonna turn in."

Mal nodded, turning to leave, and Cayde watched him go. He hoped this was the beginning of a run of good luck.


End file.
